Conquistadora - Esmeralda Santiago [183]
Ana pushed her telescope aside and went into her study. There was a letter from Miguel, who was now in Paris with Maestro de Laura. She had expected that, after his grandparents’ death, Miguel would come to Hacienda los Gemelos. He was then not quite eighteen, still technically a minor, and should have come to his mother, but Mr. Worthy explained:
You can, of course, insist that Miguel live with you, but I strongly advise that he be allowed to go away for a time. His youth and idealistic nature have brought him close to individuals under too much scrutiny by the authorities. Before his untimely death, don Eugenio, may he rest in peace, was advised at the highest levels to send Miguel from the island. Maestro de Laura and his wife will treat him as a son, and Miguel’s familiarity with someone of his stature will certainly benefit him in the future.
Ana knew Eugenio and Leonor were liberals, so it was to be expected that Miguel would come under the influence of abolitionists like Betances, the person under scrutiny Mr. Worthy was alluding to. Rather than going to live with artists, bohemians, and anarchists in Europe, he should have come to Hacienda los Gemelos. Here he could witness the other side of slavery. She’d show him how well she cared for her people, how they were housed, clothed, and fed, given important work, and provided for in every respect. The living conditions of libertos and freed slaves, like the ones she saw in San Juan, hadn’t improved in the eighteen years she’d lived in the campo. In fact, from all she’d read, they were much worse, with libertos and freed slaves settling in ever larger shantytowns around cities where they could find work. Her people ate well, dressed well, were housed better than libertos or gente libre. Her workers, she believed, were better off under the protection and guidance of good masters like herself and Severo. She brushed aside that they were locked in barracks at night, that they worked to exhaustion, that they could be whipped, that family members could be sold away from one another.
She filed Miguel’s letter in the folio where she kept his correspondence, planning to answer it later. In the middle of her desk were stacks of business letters to write, bills to pay, reports to be filed with the cabildo and customs. The paperwork for the business was more onerous every day, especially the correspondence to and from the United States, which was in English. She answered queries and concerns in Spanish, then sent the drafts to Mr. Worthy, where the correspondence was translated and posted. It took longer to get anything done, as the civil war in el norte seemed to have no end and communication was harder.
Ana rested her head on her hands. Lately she’d felt tired. Conciencia had formulated strengthening teas, and Paula and Gloria offered her broths made from organ meats to increase her strength, but nothing helped.
“Some cool tea for you, señora,” Conciencia interrupted Ana’s musings. “Mint and lavender to soothe your nerves.”
“Do I seem nervous to you?”
“You do, señora,” Conciencia said, not at all intimidated. “You’ll have news for el patrón.”
“What news?”
“You’ve been so weak, señora, and irritable.”
Ana frowned. “No impudence.”
“Disculpe, señora. I meant no offense.”
“What am I to tell el patrón?”
“I should’ve noticed sooner,” Conciencia said. “Your moods, your fatigue, the thickness around your waist.”
“No. Don’t say it.”
“Sí, señora, you’re pregnant. A boy.”
Years of herbs and douches had come to this, a child born around her thirty-eighth birthday. It was indecent.
When she saw Ana’s horrified expression, Conciencia blamed herself.
“A woman’s body wants to conceive,” she explained. “I should have changed the balance of the herbs as you entered la edad crítica.”
That she was at a crucial stage was as unexpected as her pregnancy. Well versed in animal